


if you're looking for me (i'm looking for you, too)

by thompsborn



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Irondad, Kid Harley Keener, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, and at a pumpkin patch w their respective families, and harley gets lost, and scared, but its ok!!, harley and peter are bpth 3 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thompsborn/pseuds/thompsborn
Summary: “Hi, Harley,” the woman says warmly. “I’m May, and this is my nephew, Peter.” She gestures to herself, and then to the other kid, while introducing them. “Who are you here with, Harley?”Nose scrunching up, Harley tells her, “My daddy.”“Okay,” May murmurs. “Where’s your daddy, sweetheart?”Harley huffs again, pushes his chest out in the way he’s seen his dad do when he’s trying to look tougher sometimes. It takes him a moment to manhandle the pumpkin enough that he’s cradling it with one arm instead of two, but then he uses his free hand to point behind him. “Tha’ way.” Then, patting his hand against the pumpkin, he professionally informs May, “My ‘umpkin rolled away.”[day one: pumpkin patch]
Relationships: Harley Keener & May Parker (Spider-Man), Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Comments: 21
Kudos: 357





	if you're looking for me (i'm looking for you, too)

**Author's Note:**

> this is so fucking cute i love it a lot okay

DAY ONE – PUMPKIN PATCH

“Alright,” Tony says, coming to a stop with his shoes toeing the grass. “Let’s go over the rules again real quick, alright, bud?” As he says this, he turns his head, looks down at his son, who is gazing out at the field with wonder written across his features. Crouching down, Tony uses his hand that isn’t holding onto his kids to snap his fingers a bit. “Harley, buddy—look at me, Harls.”

Blue eyes flicker over, meeting fond brown ones. A smile stretches out over pearly white teeth.

Tony doesn’t bother trying to fight away the grin that twitches the ends of his lips. “There you are,” he coos, tone warm and gentle. “We’re gonna go over the rules again, okay?”

Harley nods his head, eyes brightening. “’kay!”

“Atta boy,” Tony says, grin growing wider. “Alright, so, what’s rule number one, bubba?”

“Stay wit’ daddy,” Harley recites, as formal as a three year old can possibly get.

Tony hums. “That’s right. What do you do to stay with me?”

For a moment, Harley falters, brows twitching together in thought as he goes over the rules in his head. Then, words a little bit slow and precise, he answers, “Hold hands, an’… where daddy can see?”

“Holding hands and staying where I can see you,” Tony repeats with a nod. “Good memory, buddy. Now, do you think you can remember what rule number two is? I know it’s a newer one, so it’s okay if you need help remembering what it is, but I want you to try to think of it first. Can you do that?”

Harley scrunches his features up, looking deep in thought. “Uh…”

Sensing that Harley might need a reminder, Tony prompts him with, “If you get lost…”

Recognition flashes across Harley’s face. “Ge’ help! Find daddy!”

“Get help and try to find me.” Tony presses a kiss to Harley’s temple. “That’s right, buddy. ‘Cause I’ll be looking for you, right?” Harley bobs his head in another nod, his smile wide and blinding. “Last thing, Harls. If you end up lost and have to get help, who do you try to get help from? Can you remember?”

“Um…” Harley trails off, blinks a bit owlishly as he thinks. “Ot’er kids?”

“Try to find another kid and ask their parents for help,” Tony corrects. “And if you can’t find another kid, then try to find someone in a uniform, right? Someone who works at a store, or something like that, so that they can help you, ‘cause other parents and people who are at work are usually safer than other strangers. Does that all make sense, bud? You got any questions about any of the rules?” When Harley just shakes his head and bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement, Tony decides that he’s covered all that he needs to. Pushing himself back to his feet, he uses his free hand to gesture out at the field and tells Harley, “Then I think it’s about time we start picking out our pumpkins. What do you think?”

Harley lets out a happy squeal and lurches forward, dragging Tony behind him.

There’s a pumpkin cradled in Harley’s arms as he happily trots next to his dad, unable to hold hands due to both of them holding their own pumpkins. Harley’s isn’t a very big one—he’s only three, after all, and the rule with picking pumpkins is that you have to be able to carry the pumpkin you pick—but it’s almost perfectly shaped, a good size for him to hold and mostly smooth, which will be good for when he gets to paint his pumpkin later. Tony’s eyes naturally flicker between where they’re walking and his son, wanting to make sure Harley is right next to him without being able to hold onto him.

He comes to a sudden stop, and Harley doesn’t notice until he walks right into the back of Tony’s legs. Pouting, he turns his head to look up and asks, “Daddy? Why we stoppin’?”

“Cash only,” Tony murmurs, eyes scanning over the sign nailed up ahead. He gnaws on his lower lip for a moment, then kneels down, setting his pumpkin on the ground beside him and digging his wallet out of his pocket. To Harley, he explains, “They only take cash here, so I just gotta make sure I have enough cash on me. Hopefully, there’s an ATM somewhere up ahead, but still—just in case there isn’t…”

He trails off, distracted as he takes out the few bills he has and tries to count them, thinking back on what the prices are supposed to be. Harley loses interest quickly, looking back down at his pumpkin and then scanning their surroundings in search of something interesting that can grab his attention—and that’s when his eyes land on a little enclosure, a good twenty feet away, with a little herd of baby ducklings. He lets out a tiny gasp, eyes going wide, and—stops, for a moment. Remembers the rules, thinks long and hard as he looks back at his dad, who is frowning down at the money in his hands with a furrowed brow, and then looks over at the ducks, and—and it’s where his daddy could still see him. That’s the rule. Stay where daddy can see you, so that you don’t get lost, which means that he wouldn’t be breaking the rules by going to look at the ducks. Grinning, he hoists his pumpkin a little bit higher in his arms, so that it’s resting comfortably against his chest, and then he skips over to get a closer look, setting his pumpkin on the ground beside him once he’s reached the little fence. Instantly, a couple of the ducklings make their way over to where Harley is crouching by the fence, and he can’t help the little giggle that bubbles up from the center of his chest when he sticks his fingers through the holes in the fencing to pat at their soft tufts of fur. The little quacks that they release are high pitched and quiet in comparison to the constant chatter that’s surrounding them, and Harley is already planning to ask his dad if he can keep one when—

Someone trips over his pumpkin, sends it rolling down the little mound of a hill that the duckling enclosure is set up on, and Harley feels his heart leap up and lodge in his throat as he jumps to his feet with a gasp, exclaiming, “My ‘umpkin!” before speeding after it, little legs moving faster than they ever have before as he tries to catch up with the object that has already come to a stop at the bottom of the hill—at the feet of another kid, who blinks down at it with wide, curious brown eyes before squatting down to poke at the pumpkin with a look of awe. Harley stumbles his way over, pout pushing his lower lip out as he shouts, “Hey! Tha’s my ‘umpkin!”

The other kid looks up, eyes wide and surprised as Harley comes to a stop in front of him. “Wha’?”

“Mine,” Harley says, jabbing out a finger to point at the pumpkin on the ground. He brings his brows together and tries to narrow his eyes into a menacing glare, but all it does is scrunch up his features and push his pouty lip out even more. “Tha’s mine. Don’ touch it.”

The kid looks down at the pumpkin, then back up with a frown. “Oh. Sorry.”

Harley squats down and scoops his pumpkin back into his arms, cradling it to his chest like it’s something to protect and cherish. The other kid just tilts his head slightly to the side, blinking a bit slowly and unsurely. Harley takes a shuffled step back, frown growing deeper, as a woman rests her hand on the kids shoulder and crouches down to be level with them. “Who’s this, Pete?” the woman asks, looking at Harley with a caring yet confused little smile on her face.

“I dunno,” the kid replies, bunching up his shoulders in a shrug. He points at Harley’s pumpkin, looks up at the woman with wide, pleading eyes. “Aunt May? I have a pump’in?”

“Not yours,” Harley huffs, curling his arms tighter around his pumpkin protectively.

The woman lets out a soft laugh. “We’ll get you a pumpkin once your parents get back from the bathroom, Peter,” she tells the other kid, who beams up at her in response. Turning her attention back to Harley, she soften her features even further and asks, “What’s your name, honey?”

Harley shuffles his feet, chewing on his lower lip. “Harley.”

“Hi, Harley,” the woman says warmly. “I’m May, and this is my nephew, Peter.” She gestures to herself, and then to the other kid, while introducing them. “Who are you here with, Harley?”

Nose scrunching up, Harley tells her, “My daddy.”

“Okay,” May murmurs. “Where’s your daddy, sweetheart?”

Harley huffs again, pushes his chest out in the way he’s seen his dad do when he’s trying to look tougher sometimes. It takes him a moment to manhandle the pumpkin enough that he’s cradling it with one arm instead of two, but then he uses his free hand to point behind him. “Tha’ way.” Then, patting his hand against the pumpkin, he professionally informs May, “My ‘umpkin rolled away.”

May nods, her features looking very serious. “I see. You can’t lose your pumpkin, isn’t that right?” Relieved that this lady seems to understand his urgency in chasing after said pumpkin, Harley nods his head once, the action curt—or, rather, as curt as a three year old can get. May nods back at him, and then she smiles again, still warm and welcoming. “Well, Harley, since you got your pumpkin, how about we get you back to your dad, huh? I bet he’s worried about where you went.”

“Nuh uh,” Harley tells her, brows furrowing. “Followed the rules! Daddy can see—”

Except, when Harley turns around, all he sees is the hill he just sprinted down, and a bunch of people walking up and down the hill. He doesn’t see his dad, crouched down and counting his cash, like he was expecting. Matter of fact, he doesn’t see his dad anywhere.

Lower lip already trembling, Harley pushes up onto his tippy toes, trying to peak over the heads of everyone else in hopes of spotting his dad, but there’s nothing. “Uh oh,” he mumbles, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and clamping his teeth down on it as he turns back to May, all of his previous three year old bravado forgotten as he tries to find comfort in her gaze.. “Daddy can’t see me. I broke th’rules.”

Seeing the tears in his eyes, May’s features soften—somehow, impossibly—even further. “It’s alright, honey,” she tells him, while Peter stares wide eyed at the few tears that roll down Harley’s cheeks. “It’s alright. We’ll find him, okay? We can go look for him right now. I’m sure he’s not very far.”

Scrubbing a balled up fist against his cheek, Harley sniffles once and nods. “’kay.”

May pushes up to her feet, already looking around for anyone who appears to be frantically searching for their son, while Peter steps forward a bit. He points at Harley, looking a bit hesitant, and asks, “Sad?”

“Kinda,” Harley mumbles, casting his eyes to the ground. “Scared. I want my daddy.”

“Okay,” Peter says, turns over his hand to hold it out in an offer, palm now facing the sky as he tilts his head slightly to the side.. “Hold hands? Makes me feel better when I get scared.”

Harley ponders it for a second, but—he feels tiny and lost and he wants _something_ , some kind of comfort, so he nods he head and reaches out to hold onto Peter’s hand. “T’ank you,” he says softly. Peter grins at him, all wide and toothy, as May crouches back down, smile just as warm and soft as before.

“Alright, boys,” May says, smile growing warmer when she sees their hands locked together. “You’re already a step ahead of me, I see. Peter, honey, I want you to hold onto my hand, too, okay? Just to make sure we all stick together while we go looking for Harley’s daddy. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” Peter nods his head enthusiastically, already reaching out to hold onto May’s hand with a beaming smile. “That’s perfect, Pete. Harley, what way did you say your daddy was again?”

“Um.” Harley tightens his hold on both Peter’s hand and on the pumpkin in his arm. He turns a bit, looks back up the hill, and tells May, “Tha’ way.”

May follows where he’s looking and nods. “Alrighty then. Let’s go find your dad, then.”

When May stands back up fully, she makes sure to keep a tight hold on Peter’s hand, and Peter makes sure to hold on extra tight to Harley’s hand, to make sure they can’t get lost. “Like a train,” Peter says over his shoulder, beaming a grin at Harley that’s so bright and genuine that Harley feels his lips twitch up into a small smile in return, even as he sniffles lightly and glances around in search of his dad, trying to spot anyone familiar in the crowd of people as they walk He doesn’t realize that he’s properly crying until Peter suddenly squeezes his hand, drawing Harley’s attention back to the other boy. “Okay?”

Harley shakes his head, sniffles again—a picture of heartbreak, no doubt. Peter frowns, holds on even tighter, as tight as a three year old boy can, to Harley’s hand.

“Gonna be okay,” Peter tells him surely, not even an ounce of doubt in his eyes.

The certainty in his tone is comforting. It makes Harley feel less anxious, thinking that if someone can look and sound so sure than there’s no way he could be lying. He nods his head a bit, brings his face down to try and wipe his tears against the shoulder of his shirt, and nods again, trying to look stronger.

When they reach the top of the hill, there’s no sign of Tony anywhere. He isn’t over by the registers where you pay for the pumpkins, or over by the ducklings that Harley had been looking at, or over by the corn maze, or by the kids sized hay maze, either. The more they look, the more distraught Harley feels, until he’s hiccupping with helpless little sobs, unable to maintain the strong front he was attempting to hold. He’s terrified—so unbelievably scared that, somehow, he’ll never see his dad again. It doesn’t matter how hard Peter tries to squeeze his hand or offer quiet ramblings of jumbled up attempts at comfort, or even when May stops for a moment to kneel beside Harley and try to soothe him—he just wants his dad. The only thing he needs is his father to be with him again.

He doesn’t mean to, but at some point, his sobs escalate to the point of wailing, drawing attention to the three of them as they keep looking around. At some point—and Harley can’t exactly remember when, in his haze of crying of rapidly whipping his head around in search of his dad—May asks if he knows his dad’s name, and over his wails he can hear her shouting for Tony, can see her look back at him with sadness in her eyes. A particularly rough hiccup leaves him tripping over his feet, stumbling into Peter and then skidding his knees on the gravel they’re walking on.

“Har’ey?” Peter asks him, and Harley can only cry harder in response—from fear, still, and also from the slight sting of the pebbles digging into his knees, drawing little droplets of blood. Peter scrambles to sit down next to him, keeps holding onto Harley’s hand and looking at him with wide brown eyes.

“I want daddy,” Harley cries, hugging the pumpkin like it’ll bring him peace. “I want—I—I w—want—”

Peter lets go of Harley’s hand, carefully reaches forward to take the pumpkin and gently settles it on the ground, and then reaches forward again, arms a bit open wide. “Hug?”

Harley wipes at the snot that’s running from his nose and juts his chin in a choppy sort of nod.

Immediately, Peter shuffles closer and latches his arms around Harley’s shoulders, tugging him into a secure embrace that has Harley’s face tucked into his shoulder. Harley wails again, clings onto Peter for any ounce of comfort he can get, and it’s nice, and warm, but—it’s still not his dad.

May hovers a couple feet away, letting her nephew offer comfort to Harley with a worried furrow to her brow, making sure she’s standing close as she continues to look around, trying—hoping—that Harley’s loud cries will grab the attention of his father. Hoping that she won’t have to call the cops because this poor kid got lost and ended up stranded, somehow. Hoping that—

And then, distantly, she hears: “Harley?! Harley!”

Harley seems to hear it, too, instantly drawing back from his hug with Peter to look around, wiping at his splotchy cheeks and failing to stumble his way to his feet. “Daddy?!”

“Harley!” the same voice shouts, closer this time. When Harley spins around, he can see someone pushing through the crowd of people, and Harley doesn’t even think. He knows it’s his dad, and as soon as it clicks in his head, he starts sprinting towards him. The space closes quickly with how fast both of them are running, and then—his dad is scooping him up into his arms, cradling him to his chest with a rough sob of his own. “Oh my god,” Tony murmurs, holding Harley tight. “Oh, Christ, Harls, Jesus Christ, I can’t—god, I’m so glad you’re okay, bubba, I’m so— _god—”_

Clinging to his dad, Harley starts to cry in earnest again, tucking his face into his dads neck and never wanting to let go or be put down. “Da’,” he manages through his hiccups. “Da’.”

“I’ve got you, bambino,” Tony coos, one hand running gentle fingers through Harley’s hair to soothe him. “It’s alright, honey. It’s okay. I know, that was scary, huh?” Harley nods into Tony’s neck. “Yeah, it was scary for me, too, but I told you, right? If you ever get lost, I’ll be looking for you, too. It’s okay.”

“Scared,” Harley croaks. “I di’n’t—didn’t mean to. I broke the rules. ‘M sorry.”

Tony shakes his head and shushes him. “Don’t be sorry. It was an accident, right?” When Harley nods again, Tony can’t help but smile, just a bit. “Then it’s okay, bud. It wasn’t on purpose, and you followed the rules, right? You found someone who could help you find me. You did good, Harley. You did so good, bubba. You’re so good, okay? And I’ve got you now. It’s okay, bubba. Take a deep breath.”

It takes a few more minutes of soothing words and gentle coaxing, but eventually, Harley manages to calm down enough that he releases his death grip and leans back, just a bit, wiping messily at the mixture of tears and snot on his face. Then, looking at Tony, he says, “Th’umpkin fell down. Had to go get it.”

“Oh, I see,” Tony says, nodding. “Well, you can’t lose your pumpkin. But lets let me know before you go running after runaway pumpkins next time, okay? I know it was an accident, so it’s okay, but we always use mistakes to get better, right? We learn from them, huh, buddy?”

Harley nods right back, then twists in Tony’s arms to look at May, who is standing a few feet away with a soft smile on her face, and Peter, who is holding Harley’s pumpkin with a protective sort of grip and staring up at Tony with some kind of relief. Harley points at them, looks back to his dad, and enthusiastically says, “May helped find you! And Pe’er!”

Tony looks over at them, gratitude shining in his eyes. “That was super nice of them, bud. We should say thank you for helping, shouldn’t we? Because they were being super nice and helpful, right?”

With a gasp, Harley twists back around and shouts, “T’ank you!”

“You’re so welcome, sweetie,” May responds, features soft and warm once again, no longer creased with sympathy or worry. “I’m just glad we were able to find him so quickly. Right, Pete?”

For a moment, Harley seems to consider her words, then looks down at Peter, telling his dad, “I want down now.” Then, when Tony quirks a brow, he quickly adds, “P’ease?”

“There’s the magic word,” Tony says with a wide smile, setting Harley back down on his feet.

“T’ank you,” Harley tells Peter, as serious as a three year old can be. He takes the pumpkin from Peter’s arms, squats down to set it by his feet, and then looks at Peter with a grin. “Hug?”

Peter’s entire face brightens, and then they’re hugging again, like a couple of kids that have known each other since birth rather than a pair of toddlers that only met thirty minutes ago. “Welcome,” Peter tells Harley, while they’re still hugging, both too content to pull away. “Not scared anymore?”

Harley shakes his head. “Nope,” he responds, cheek pressed to Peter’s shoulder. “All safe.”

(They come to a stop at the bottom of the hill, hands clasped together between them, jackets zipped up all the way in an attempt to fight off the early October chill. Peter points at the ground in front of them, eyes sparkling as he grins and says, “That’s where you yelled at me for taking your pumpkin, which—”

“You didn’t actually take,” Harley finishes, rolling his eyes. “I know. You always say that, but we were _three,_ okay? For all I knew, you were some kind of fucking _wizard_ that was trying to _steal_ my pumpkin.”

Peter just shrugs, unbothered, before scanning the area around them with something fond and warm in his eyes. “It’s weird,” he says. “Being here, I mean. Like—I haven’t been here since then, ‘cause I moved in with Ben and May and all that shit went down, and, like, I know you and Tony came back every year, so you probably won’t get what I’m saying, but I haven’t been here in fifteen years and it looks exactly like I remember it. I can vividly picture every single part of that day. It’s just—really weird. I dunno.”

“Makes sense,” Harley tells him. “I remember it, too. Which is weird because the only part of being three that I remember is meeting you and our families somehow becoming close friends because of it.”

“Aw,” Peter coos. “That’s so _gay.”_

Harley rolls his eyes and lets go of Peter’s hand. “I hate you. You’re the _worst,_ Parker.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate to latch onto Harley’s hand again, grin even wider. “You _love_ me, Keener.”

“I’m just stuck with you,” Harley says with a sigh. “You’re like a leech. Or, like, a—a parasite. I keep trying to shake you off and you just won’t let go. You’re lucky that I’ve grown to like you.”

 _“Love_ me,” Peter corrects again.

Though he rolls his eyes again, Harley can’t fight the smile playing on his lips and he doesn’t bother poking fun anymore, but bunching up his shoulder in an odd kind of shrug and saying, “Yeah.” Peter’s teasing grin softens, becomes fond, and Harley lets them bask in it for a few moments before abruptly turning to look towards the fields. “Whoever gets the uglier pumpkins pays for dinner.”

That wonderful, wonderful Parker mischief glints in Peter’s eyes. “Ten minutes?”

“Five,” Harley states.

A bright, beautiful laugh pushes past Peter’s lips. “Oh, you are _on._ Meet back here?” Harley nods, drops Peter’s hand once more, and mentally prepares himself to start running. “Ready? Three, two, one—go!”

Harley ends up with a lumpy, lopsided pumpkin. Peter’s is round and smooth.

They have take out from their favorite Chinese restaurant that night. Harley doesn’t mind the price.)


End file.
